Gemotions

The precise click of the lock on the gate was the signal of his exit. He smoothed down his impeccable suit, adjusting the silk tie. And then the voice.

"Mr. Hawthorne," it was Mr. Bellweather, his face etched with worry. He gestured towards the aging pine that cast a permanent shadow on his meticulously landscaped lawn.

Mr. Hawthorne paused, his expression perfectly composed. "Mr. Bellweather. A pleasure. That pine, you say? A rather… dominant presence, I grant you."

Mr. Bellweather mentioned the cost of tree removal. Mr. Hawthorne simply folded his arms, enjoying the uncomfortable moment. He had meticulously researched his rights, he knew exactly what was involved. "Well, Mr. Bellweather, I will certainly look into the matter. But one must remember, it is a magnificent tree, don’t you think?"